Why
by cndrow
Summary: Raphael ponders exactly why he loves Leonardo.  Warnings: Oneshot; set sometime during my fanfic 'Déjà Vu All Over Again'; completely fluffy tcest.


Disclaimer & Warnings:  
I do not own the Turtles, as much as I would love to.  
*Contains allusions to turtlecest.*  
Oneshot.  
Complete RaphxLeo fluff!  
Setting:  
Another glimpse into Alex and her boys' lives after my fanfic 'Three Little Words' ended. 'Competition's Leo & Raph will _not_ let me go a week without writing them! D:

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Why

Why do I love him?

I think he wants a definite answer; a somethin' to put in that lil' box labeled 'Why Raphael Loves Me'. Leo likes his world to be black and white, cut and dried, _this_ or _that_. No middle ground. But if that's all we were, we wouldn't still be together after three-odd years and it be even better than the last time, _every_ time.

He asks me that question occasionally, and it's usually followed with both of us gettin' in a snit for a day or two. I get pissed when he presses me about it- don't I show him a hundred times a day that I just wanna be with him?- and he gets pissed that I take offense. Then the day is full of scowling and hurt looks, avoidin' contact and barely speakin'. It kills both of us till one of us breaks, though we never say that in so many words. We don't use _words_ to apologize, if ya get my drift.

Yet he keeps askin', every few months, and I admit I swallowed some pride and started seriously thinkin' about it. I think I actually scared him when he asked las' night; I told him there were just too many reasons to say instead of my usual tirade. He jus' gave me a baffled glance, there was awkward silence, an' finally we pretended to fall asleep so we didn't have to look at each other. At least, I know that's what _I_ did, and I bet ya he was too.

I'm beginnin' to think I've not been takin' his question the right way. I don't think he's questionin' _if_ I love him. He just wants to know _why_. That's Leo for ya- he's got insecurities like Case's brain has holes.

So I'm sittin' here hidin' in a shadow in the dojo, watchin' Leo meditate, worryin' over what to say. Or what to think. We ain't fightin', exactly, but we've still been avoidin' each other since last night. That _really_ irritates me. He deserves a real answer this time.

There's always been somethin' about him, even as a kid. It wasn't the leader macho thin', either. Maybe it was his presence, the way he could fill a room just by bein' in it, makin' me feel like I was suffocatin' even when I was young. There was somethin' in me that thirsted for his approval like it was an oasis in the desert of my life. That flicker of happiness when I completed a sequence; when I finally got that kata just right; when I beat him at sparrin'. That look set my mind on fire and my limbs to jelly even back then.

As we got older, we found we could talk without talkin'; his eyes could look deep into mine and express himself just as clearly as spoken words. This secret ability thrilled us both; we often used it whenever we'd get in trouble- or more accurately, when _I'd_ get in trouble an' he'd cover for me. Lil' Master Splinter Jr. rarely got in trouble, but he always preferred to handle my punishment himself, leave father out of it. And punish he did, with longer training or- ugh!- more meditation. But he always did it with me; he was right there training those extra hours with me, or sitting there in the dojo late into the night beside me while we meditated. Those sessions usually veered pretty quick away from meditation and turned into late-night scary story swapping, or sparrin' for fun, or giggling over Mike's latest prank.

Then we hit our teens, and hormones drove us all nuts until Don gave all of us the most embarrassing sex talk I think anyone's ever had. Leo an' I grew closer, though I still hadn't thought of him _that_ way yet. He trained me harder, upset at the senseless rage I held in check most of the time, and I rode him harder to _not_ train all the time, enraged by his further perfection at ignorin' his emotions. Even with my rage and his dispassion, we still were each other's best friend. He calmed me; I made him feel.

But by eighteen, it finally hit me one day when I was watchin' him meditate, jus' like I am now.

I loved him.

Like now, I didn't quite know why back then, but it ate away at my sanity. I made all our lives a living hell till I confessed. He accepted me without judgment, without disgust, and with a burning passion that rivaled my own. We've been together since that day- except for that stupid stunt in Central 'Merica that I don't like to think about. Hell, we're even married now.

Yet Leo still wonders why I love him. Why? Why? A better question would be why _couldn't_ I love him?

He's my anchor. He keeps me sane. He listens to me. He talks to me. He accepts my abilities as well as my faults. He makes me laugh and cry. He sits through 'cheap monster movies' for me. He makes me coffee when he can't stand the stuff. And he's got the best damn body this side of waking life, and he willingly gives himself to me over and over again because he- he-

I stand up swiftly, smiling. I finally have my answer.

As I approach him, I notice his eyes are slitted, watching me; he'd been aware of me the entire time, probably. Did I mention he's also a smug bastard when he wants to be?

I kneel before him, taking his face in my rough hands, not giving him a chance to speak.

"Ya know why I love ya?" I say, alarmed to hear my voice so gruff. Smooth, Raph, sound like yer interrogatin' him. That's sexy.

Leo doesn't seem to notice or care, though, as he gazes back. His eyes scream his fear, his uncertainty, an' my stomach flops over. I lick my dry lips before answerin' my own question.

"'Cause _you_ love _me._"

He sighs, that pretty little sigh I usually only hear after sex; an' as he pulls me closer, I already know this is gonna be the best kiss yet.


End file.
